


I can't get you out of my head

by JuliaBaggins



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Flashbacks, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6488782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaBaggins/pseuds/JuliaBaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He woke up from another nightmare and sat up on the hard mattress. His heart was beating faster than it should be, his breath was not as steady as usual and he knew why that was happening. He had dreamed about that man again; blond hair, blue eyes. Steve. Captain America. Stevie.</em>
</p>
<p>Bucky gets back a memory of Steve and finally decides to go looking for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I can't get you out of my head

**Author's Note:**

> Soo, today was one of the worst days I had in years, and writing seems to help with keeping my mind busy, to not think about it too much. That's how this story happened...

He woke up from another nightmare and sat up on the hard mattress. His heart was beating faster than it should be, his breath was not as steady as usual and he knew why that was happening. He had dreamed about that man again; blond hair, blue eyes. _Steve._ Captain America. Stevie. 

The headache which pained him most of his waking hours got worse, as it always did when he thought about _him._ It had been nearly five months since they had fought against each other on the helicarrier, since the Captain fell. And he couldn’t bear the thought of him dying, he couldn’t… He tried to silence his thoughts when he realized that his hands were shaking. This would have been inacceptable during his time as the Winter Soldier, but now… He was not sure. He didn’t even know who he was for sure.

A deep breath. Another. And another.

He stood up, feeling his body ache from the uncomfortable sleeping position. It took him only three steps to get to the bathroom, if you could call it that at all. The single lightbulb that hung from the ceiling tore shadows on the old tiling. A crack ran through the mirror and when he looked at it, it was like this crack also ran through his face. Through him. How very accurate.

He studied his own features, his empty eyes, his messy hair. It was longer than it had been on the pictures he saw in the museum. But that didn’t matter, it was of no importance as he wasn’t that person anymore. A look down, at his metal arm. He also didn’t feel like the Soldier anymore. It was so confusing. 

Some cold water to his hand, his face. It helped him to focus at least a bit. His breathing was back to normal and he thought about getting back to sleep – well, that probably wasn’t a good idea. Sleeping meant dreaming, and dreaming… It usually ended like this, or even worse. So no, no more sleep. He also knew that if he would stay awake he’d need something to do, to keep himself busy. A walk would do, fresh air, just him and the cold of the night. 

He took off the shirt he used to sleep in, tossed it on the floor without caring about it. Another look to the mirror. He eyed his body, the muscles, the scars. One of the latter caught his attention. It was located on the left side of his stomach, merely two centimeters long, and it looked old, older than most of his scars, nearly faded…. It was not like he thought about his scars a lot, but that particular one… 

And suddenly, the memory hit him, as clear and colorful as they rarely ever were. 

 

_It was cold when Bucky walked home from the docks, icy raindrops scratching at his face. The day had been hard, even harder than usual, and all he wanted was to get home. Bucky tried to tell himself that this was because of their old red sofa, the warmth, something to eat, but that wasn’t it – the one thing about home that made his steps get faster, that placed the hint of a smile on his grim face, was the thought of Steve waiting for him. His Stevie…_

_Bucky was only two streets away from their shared flat when a movement in a dark alley to his left caught his eye. Or maybe there wasn’t a movement at all, maybe it was just a feeling, an upsetting knowledge that something was wrong. He walked into the alley, nearly running now, when he saw the two frames in the shadows. There was a tall man, dark hair, a beard. He couldn’t make out the man’s features but it was not as if that would matter – what mattered were the man’s fists, and where they connected with Steve’s chest. How the smaller man was trying to fight back while violent coughs shook through his body. Bucky felt anger pushing through his veins, like it always did when he saw his Steve getting hurt, and before he could even think about his actions he had tackled the man, thrown him to the ground, connecting his fist with that bearded face._

_“Bu… Bucky?”_

_Steve’s coughing got worse and Bucky turned around, only for a moment, to check on his friend who had slid down to his knees. Bucky didn’t want to admit how scared he was, how much he worried about Steve, but still, he needed to get to him as soon as possible… And suddenly, there was a sharp pain at his stomach. He heard Steve saying something but he couldn’t understand the words; his whole attention was fixed on the knife in the bearded man’s hand, the one he had just cut him with. Huh. Bucky had been sure that the other one had been knocked out, but now it looked like that wasn’t the case… Though when Bucky looked at him again, his eyes were shut, like the attack with the knife had cost him his last bit of consciousness…_

_Suddenly, there was a touch to his skin, small hands covering his face, blue eyes looking at his stomach in horror, tears on pale cheeks..._

 

He didn’t remember everything that followed, not the ambulance or the hospital or the stitches. No, what he remembered were blue eyes, how they got back to their apartment in the early morning. How he hadn’t felt truly _safe_ and _at home_ till he had been wrapped in Steve’s skinny arms. Light kisses to his hair, soft words into his ear. Questions, demands to be more careful in the future. Some insults for him putting himself in danger, sounding sweeter than any endearments ever could as they were spoken by no one but his Steve. 

“Love you, jerk.” 

“I love you too, punk.”

 

He was gasping when the images left his head; when finally, everything he could see was his own face in the broken mirror. He watched how a single tear rolled down his cheek and a decision started to form in his mind. It was not like he hadn’t thought about that before; he did so ever since he had pulled _him_ out of the water after their last fight, to leave him there, on his own, while one part of him wanted nothing more than to look after his wounds, to make sure that he would be okay, while the other demanded his death. 

So he had left, torn apart between two personalities that both didn’t seemed to fit him completely. And now he was here, hiding in some shitty apartment while he became more and more aware of the truth, that he couldn’t stay here forever. That he needed to face the demons of his past as well as a blue eyed angel.

He went back to what you could call a living room, grabbed his backpack he had placed next to his mattress, always close to where he slept. There was a particular picture he was looking for, fixed in one of the notebooks. It showed Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers, side by side, both of them smiling. He had seen it in the museum and then searched for it online in some shitty internet café because somehow, though he wasn’t that smiling man anymore, though he couldn’t even remember that photo being taken, it had felt important to have it. 

Now, that he looked at it again, after he had got that memory of a sweet and caring and loving Steve just back recently, he noticed something. He had several books filled with handwritten notes, articles from newspapers, pictures. Steve, the Captain, played a major part in his written memories, there were many takes on his face, most of them after the serum, some before. And the one he had been looking at, the picture of Steve and Bucky, was the only one he owned that showed the blonde man with a smile on his face.

 

It was five days later when he knocked at his door. He had made dozens of plans, had watched him leave the young Stark’s tower, observed his ways, thought of bad and even worse scenarios how this could go. To finally turn up in front of his flat and just knock. A second passed, another one, but he knew that Steve was home; he had seen him get into the building half an hour ago. Maybe he shouldn’t… No, there was a reason he was here. So he knocked again, one final time. Twenty seconds. And then, the door started to open. A voice that sounded so familiar that it hurt started to speak.

“Nat, I swear, if it’s…” 

The door opened even more and suddenly, there were blue eyes, blue eyes that found his own. What they saw made the words stop on Steve’s lips and he just stood there, unable to talk or even form a clear thought. They stared at each other, silent, unmoving.

He had made plans about what he could say, but now… He just stood there, frozen, like Steve was. Steve’s bottom lip was shaking and when he watched that, when he saw his lip, another memory turned up in his mind – actually, it wasn’t a real memory, just a glimpse, a feeling, his own lips connecting with Steve’s…

And that was when he raised his hand, his right one, to carefully touch Steve’s cheek. It had been a sheer impulse, something that scared himself, but when he saw the blonde in front of him leaning into the touch, it felt like he had done the right thing. Maybe for the first time in 70 years.

 

“Bucky?”

Steve’s voice sounded like a question as well as a wish, and he nodded ever so slightly. Bucky nodded, and then he took a step in Steve’s direction, and suddenly, they were in each other’s arms. None of them could have said how long they stood there like that, holding onto each other like it was for dear life (which maybe, it actually was). 

Later, minutes or hours or even days, Steve asked in a hesitant voice if Bucky wanted to come into his flat. Bucky nodded, again, and he followed Steve. He observed the whole flat with just a few glances and there was one thing that caught his attention. The red sofa right in the middle of the living room; the same shade of red as the one they had in their tiny apartment in Brooklyn all those years ago. He looked at it, then shot Steve a questioning look. But the blonde didn’t seem to catch it, he just stood there, his gaze fixed on Bucky, his oh so blue eyes at the edge of tears. 

Carefully, Bucky sat down at the red sofa, and when he did, Steve couldn’t hold back his tears any more. He got down to his knees in front of the sofa, grabbed Bucky’s hands in his, their gazes locked.

“You’re actually here.” 

It sounded as if Steve couldn’t believe his own words.

“Yes. I came home.” Bucky said. And, after a second of hesitating, “Steve.”

For a moment, Bucky wished he had a camera with him, because the smile Steve was smiling now was even more beautiful than the one in the old picture. But soon that thought was gone, because Steve had wrapped him in his arms, and they weren’t skinny and weak anymore, but they were _Steve’s,_ and they were holding him, on a red sofa, and he felt safe. _Finally._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Nice comments would literally safe my day :)


End file.
